Fear
by Quiteokayish
Summary: It was ironic that his last act was as cowardly as it was brave.


This is a companion to my other piece, "Presence", which is basically this story from Romano's point of view. I've written a sequel with a somewhat happy ending, it's called "Hello Again."

 **Disclaimer: This fic is based off of a prompt I saw somewhere on Tumblr, but I can't find it for the life of me. If someone can find me a source, I'd love to include it. Author " xxCharmspeakerxx " has already posted their rendition of it, called "Veneziano is Not Weak." It's a very good read and I'd recommend it to anyone looking for an extra dose of angst.**

* * *

It was ironic that his last act was just as cowardly as it was brave.

"Try to get some sleep." Germany said. They were sprawled out on the bed, still breathing heavily from their rampant, almost vicious love making. Veneziano knew that it might have seemed strange to his fiancé. He was so incredibly desperate to touch him, to feel him, to know him. He needed to witness and memorize every inch of the larger man's body. He needed to know that their last time would be their best.

It wasn't, and maybe that was his fault. Every few minutes he'd feel tears prickle in his eyes and he'd need to take a moment to calm himself. Germany would worry and plead with him that it was alright, they didn't have to do this tonight. They could wait until he felt better, until he was himself, until Romano was only a distant memory.

Veneziano's thoughts were broken as Germany pulled him closer, edging the blankets up over his shoulders and kissing his forehead. He couldn't help it, he was brought to tears, but the German seemed to be expecting that, and held him tighter as he began to cry.

"It's going to be alright, Feliciano." He said.

This of course, only made him cry harder, because Germany didn't know his true source of suffering. He didn't know that not only was the Italian depressed, but he was also overcome with a suffocating fear.

It was a fear that when the time came, he couldn't do it.

When it was decided that there could only be one Italy, Romano volunteered to be dissolved, and of course he would, Veneziano thought to himself. Romano was always the one to sacrifice; he always had to settle with the shorter straw. While he was grumpy, he loved him. Veneziano never doubted that.

Spain was horrified, though he tried to hide it. Veneziano could see the cold fear in his eyes once he began to realize what the term "dissolved" meant, that he'd be losing the person that meant the most to him.

He hoped that Spain would come to him, asking _him_ to be the sacrifice. Anyone could have done it at that point, really. Veneziano waited weeks for someone to ask, or simply drop a hint that he should be the one to die. Maybe then he'd have a better excuse for what he planned to do.

There was suddenly someone was speaking to him, and he realized just how closely he was clinging to Germany. The man didn't complain, though, as he ran gentle fingers through his hair.

"Are you going to be okay?" he asked, and Veneziano rubbed his eyes in an effort to calm himself. The last thing he wanted to do was bring any suspicion to the German's mind.

"Yes Ludwig, I'm sorry for bothering you." He said numbly, but the blond simply shook his head.

"You don't bother me," he assured, "and it's alright to be sad; but this is for the greater good, do you understand?"

God no, he thought. He couldn't possibly understand. How could this be for the greater good? How could death ever be the answer? How could they just allow it, no one even bothering to ask him what he thought, or if he was willing to take his brother's place?

Maybe if they had done so he wouldn't feel this way. Guilt was swallowing him whole. His brother, his _fratello¸_ how could they expect him to just let this happen? How dare he not be tempted by the hand gun in Germany's closet?

He felt nauseous. This was all so confusing, what was he thinking? He didn't want to die.

But Romano didn't either, and he seemed to be the only one who saw that.

* * *

For once Germany didn't have to coerce him to get up. Veneziano had already showered and dressed by the time the man's alarm went off, just able to sneak the nine millimeter into his pocket before he opened his eyes.

The larger man didn't seem to be in the mood for conversation when he came downstairs to join him for breakfast, and part of him was glad for it, he doubted that he could say anything without breaking down. It wasn't as if he could help it, every inch of him was filled with dread at the dawning realization that this would be his last day on earth.

The idea came to him sometime in the past week, as he went over to Romano's house for dinner ten minutes early and walked in on the wretched, sobbing mess that was Spain. Romano had of course assured him that it was alright, that Spain was just upset for the time being and he would eventually recover. His _fratello_ told him over and over to not be sad, that he didn't mind doing it, that it was better this way. This broken record of reassurance hadn't satisfied Veneziano. He'd known his brother long enough to recognize the fear in his eyes.

A voice was pulling him out of his thoughts, it was Germany's.

"It's nearly time to leave, Feliciano." He said, making his way towards the smaller man. "Can you make it to the chapel alright?"

At first he was confused. He wouldn't be the one driving, and Germany knew that. Then he began to realize what the man was getting at. Would _he_ be alright?

Suddenly it hit him. This would be the last time he spoke to Germany, he was going to die before the hour was out. Was he going to be alright? He wanted to laugh. He was dizzy with fear, absolutely miserable at the task that awaited him, at the terrible things he'd do that day.

And oh God, Germany didn't know a thing about it.

"I love you." He rushed out as he practically crushed the other man with a hug. "I love you so much Ludwig. You are so lovely and dear to me. Please don't ever think otherwise."

Then he was afraid, because for once the German didn't return his hug. Several moments passed before he said anything. Finally, just as Veneziano was about to panic he spoke.

"I love you too, Feliciano." He said quietly. "You know how much it would hurt me if something ever happened to you, right?"

The question pained him in an almost physical way. He hid his face in the man's chest in an effort to avoid suspicion, though part of him wanted to step away and tell him everything right then and there, to allow himself to be taken care of and protected as he had always been.

No, he could be brave, Veneziano decided. He had to be.

"I know." He whispered, not trusting his voice. Then the German pulled back, holding him by his shoulders as he examined him. Veneziano cried harder, giving himself an excuse to cover his face.

"You would never hurt yourself Feliciano, would you?"

He shook his head, his breath ragged as his shoulders shook. "Never," he assured, realizing just how heavy the gun in his pocket was. "I'd never, ever do that Ludwig. I promise."

There was another pause, and he could feel the German's icy blue eyes on him. Part of him hoped he'd figure it out, that he'd realize his gun was missing, that Veneziano was more afraid than he was sad.

"I don't think we should take separate cars." He said.

The sentence filled him with hope and fear. Perhaps he knew! Perhaps he'd stop the Italian, give him a reason to keep on living besides that of simply not being asked to die. Half of him was paralyzed however, because if Germany knew he'd stop him, surely he would. Then he'd have to go through the ceremony and watch his brother die, knowing that all eyes were on him, that he was secretly blamed, that it could have been prevented if he had merely volunteered before his brother got the chance to.

"I'll be okay." He assured. "I won't do anything bad. Please, I need to be alone with Romano."

A few moments of scrutiny passed; all the while he prayed. He didn't know what for however; as half of him was set on dying that day and the other half hoped that someone, anyone would stop him.

"Alright." Germany said, pulling him close and pressing a kiss to his cheek, all the while Veneziano tried not to shake. "Remember what I said, Feliciano, I'd be devastated if anything happened to you, and you promised."

* * *

He didn't know why he was so set on driving with Romano, perhaps it was because he wanted to further steel his resolve, perhaps he wanted to spend his last moments with him, or perhaps it was the only way to keep himself from breaking down in front of Germany and telling him everything, about the gun in his pocket and the plan in his head and the terrible fear that kept him from going through with it.

Though he tried, Veneziano couldn't for the life of him think of a thing to say to Romano. They spent the first half of the drive in complete silence, all the while he kept his hands steady in his lap, resisting the incredibly strong urge to fidget.

Romano cleared his throat. He knew that his brother was waiting for him to say something, but Veneziano could only look out the window, keeping his mouth in a tight line. His eyes roamed over the people that they passed, wondering what kind of a day they were having, wondering if any of them would hear the gunshot from this distance.

"Veneziano…"

He tried not to jump at the sound of his brother's voice. Oh God, did he know? Could he see the outline of the gun in his pocket? Could he tell just how nervous he was?

"Will that German bastard be there?"

God, no.

Germany would witness his death, and he had only just realized that.

Many people would see his death, he realized, wondering how in the world he hadn't thought of that before. For a moment he thought it would be best to run, to find a dark alley and commit the act there so no one would have to see, but then how would they know that he had died? How could they know that Romano didn't need to dissolve? What if, when alone, he lost his nerve, and by the time he made it back to the chapel Romano had already gone through with it? There were too many variables. He couldn't think.

"I don't know." He said, his voice cracking.

"Really? Romano asked, leaning back against the seat. "You two are engaged aren't you? And he doesn't even bother to show up to the funeral of his own brother in law? Really Veneziano, I question your decisions…"

His brother looked especially dressed up for the occasion, he wondered where he'd gotten such a fine suit and why he hadn't worn it yet. He wondered how he looked so put together with his own death staring him in the face. He wondered if it might be better that Romano died after all.

Dear lord, how could he think that?

Then suddenly the world began to spin, and a wave of nausea hit him. He bent over violently, putting his head in his hands in an effort to calm himself. He wanted to scream, to jump out of the window, to finally, finally tell someone what was going through his head, because this was becoming far too much.

He felt a hand on his back. "Hey," Romano said, "I didn't mean it. I know Ludwig is going to give you the best life he can. I'm happy for you."

Images flashed in his mind, ones of chilly winter mornings spent in tangled in bed, going to the little café on the corner for their morning coffee, singing in the car, making dinner for each other, holding hands as they walked, these were all things he'd been blessed with, these were all things he could continue to have if he simply left the gun in his pocket.

But then he looked at his brother, who wore heavy purple bags under his eyes and looked as pale as ever, though he did his best to smile. Romano wanted all of those things as well. Of course he didn't want to die, to leave his family and to leave his love. How could Veneziano accept all of those beautiful things knowing that his _fratello_ wanted them just as much, deserved them more than him?

"And what about Spain?" he asked, taking a deep breath as he came to a new resolve. He could do this. He couldn't live with himself otherwise.

"Spain will be okay." Romano said, removing his hand and frowning. Something told him he didn't believe in what he was saying. "And you'll look after him won't you? For me?"

Veneziano could only nod, knowing that in a way he would be doing just as his brother asked.

"It's better this way," his _fratello_ explained. "Everyone loves you Veneziano, they want the best for you. You'll be taken care of. I'm not too worried."

The words stung. So this was why Romano didn't fight it, why he accepted his death. He thought that he wouldn't be leaving him helpless, that Veneziano wouldn't have a problem overcoming his loss, that no one would really.

He wanted to shout at his brother, to grab him by his collar and spend an hour explaining just how important he was, just how much he meant to everyone. How on earth could he not see that?

It was too late however, as they had just reached the chapel. With the stoniest expression he could manage Veneziano followed Romano inside.

The ceremony began simply enough, the audience was invited to the front of the room to say their last goodbye's to a waiting Romano. His brother looked pale and worn he went down the line. He was polite with everyone, even suffering through France's suffocating embrace. When he got to Germany Veneziano could overhear him say:

"You'll damn well take care of him, bastard."

"I'll protect him with my life," Germany responded, shaking his brother's hand. It was that moment that he started to cry. He prayed to whatever God was listening that Germany would have a reason to leave, that he'd be suddenly ill or get bored or _something_ that would get him out those chapel doors. But it was impossible, and as the German made his way off of the stage and back to his seat, he met his gaze.

Sky blue eyes widened as he noticed he was crying, he then gave Veneziano a look that meant everything in the world to him. It calmed him and told him he was loved. It was almost pleading. It left Veneziano with no fear, only a strong guilt for what he planned to do.

Though part of him wished it could, Germany's gaze did nothing to diminish his resolve.

He waited patiently for Spain to move away from his brother, and then he approached, still crying, the gun as heavy as ever in his pocket.

It wasn't fear that caused him to break down and sob; only a sweet sadness that made every inch of him ache, because this was it. This was goodbye.

Romano drew him into a hug, and he reciprocated it with every ounce of strength that was left in him.

"It's going to be okay, Veneziano." Romano assured, and he felt his brother begin to rub small circles into his back, just as he did when they were younger and he was upset. It made him smile. "Toughen up a bit will you? There's nothing to be sad about."

Slowly, steadily his tears lessened. The sweet sadness was still there, but it was dim as Romano stepped back, holding him by his shoulders and offering a small, brave smile. "It will be alright. I love you, brat."

" _Fratello,"_ he said, and then he reached into his pocket. He took a deep breath, there was nothing that could stop him now. He was ready.

"I love you too."

Then Veneziano put the gun to his temple. He could hear Germany scream his name, and an hour ago he would have hesitated, would have thrown the gun down and ran to him, giving into the fear that he'd been fighting for so long.

That battle was over now, he thought, looking into his brother's eyes that were now widening with realization.

For once Veneziano wasn't afraid. He pulled the trigger.


End file.
